


Stop the Clock

by Winchester_with_Wings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Comfort/Angst, DO NOT COPY, DO NOT REPLICATE, Depression, Do Not Translate, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, prompt, request, trigger warning: anxiety, trigger warning: panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester_with_Wings/pseuds/Winchester_with_Wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt by @dreamscometruexo: “ Ooh ooh drabble idea, Dean holding you after a panic attack or comforting you or something like that. I’m sure us anxiety prone people would like it:)) ”</p><p>Summary: Being cooped up in the bunker with the Men of Letters archive at your fingertips, you're now the go-to person for help with lore. But having so many hunters depend on you is overwhelming. You don't have enough time for yourself and you've reached a breaking point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop the Clock

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my second fic which deals with anxiety and depression. (The first one being “We’re Gonna Get Through This” ) I know firsthand that everyone’s personal experience with a&d can vary so I hope the way I wrote this was okay. It was sort of inspired by my own meltdown. Don’t forget… 
> 
> Always Keep Fighting!

Sam and Dean Winchester had no idea.

They didn’t know that before you joined up and became a hunter that you had struggled with depression and anxiety all your life. The occasion to tell them had never come up. There really hadn’t been time for anything but hunting. So perhaps maybe you too had forgotten about your life-long mental health issues.

The adrenaline of the hunt had replaced the panic you used to deal with on a daily basis; you’d now tricked your brain into fighting when fight or flight mode was alerted. And honestly, there’s not really a lot of time to stop and think about yourself when you’re saving people and hunting things.

But you weren’t so much hunting as you were researching nowadays. A bad ankle sprain had put you out of commission a while ago and once you’d nearly healed, it was determined that you were so good at researching here at the bunker that you were more useful at home than on the road.

The Winchesters weren’t even the only hunters utilizing you and the Men of Letters archives. Once you’d figured out the cataloging system, you became the new Bobby and several hunters had proven to have you on speed dial.

As a result, you were now cooped up at the Bunker. You could never be far from it in case someone called with an emergency and needed to know how to break a spell, curse, or kill a monster.

You were also alone.

Every day, you could feel the depression creeping up on you. You missed Sam and Dean when they were gone; especially Dean, because you’re pretty sure you have feelings for him and any attention he gave you made you feel like you were floating on cloud 9.

When you used to hunt with Sam and Dean–practically living in their pockets as a token third wheel–you’d enjoyed alone time because it was few and far between and came in the perfect doses. When you were alone, you’d eat whatever you wanted, blasted the pop music that Dean so disapproved of and danced to it and then catch up on personal reading or your guilty pleasure tv shows.

But now…you had too much alone time. You were caught up on all of your hobbies and even though researching kept you busy almost all the time, you still had too much time to think. You also no longer played your music because you needed to be able to hear your phone at all times. It had gotten to the point that you even took your phone with you when you showered.

You didn’t mind being the go-to person on lore. It made you a valuable person to not only the Winchesters but so many other hunters. In a way, you were making an even bigger difference than just working one case at a time.

This morning though…this morning you woke up feeling different.

You’d slept more than your allotted 4 hours. You don’t know if the extra sleep messed with you and made you even more tired or if it was the guilt for having slept in but today it was hard to get out of bed.

You were sluggish all morning; keeping your phone in your pocket, making a pot of terrible coffee and then taking one bite of a bagel before leaving in it in the kitchen because food just doesn’t seem appealing at this time. You sit down in the library and for the first time in a while, you play some music but it’s a mellow playlist. You keep it at a low volume because you don’t actually want to listen to P!nk or Rihanna but you don’t want the whole bunker to be quiet as a tomb either.

You tentatively dip into your research, a sense of hopelessness starting to overwhelm you. You’ve gotten into a lonely routine and you feel as though you’ve finally gone mad. 

Dean and Sam are on their way back from a hunt but it’s several states away. Maybe they’d be back today or tomorrow. You hope so because the thought of Dean and his rakish smile causes you to take in a deep but invigorating breath of air.

It doesn’t take long for the calls to start coming. It’s just two hunters for the moment but each of them keep calling back to check in on your progress on their individual cases. Their tone is starting to get to you. One hunter speaks quickly as if it’s a life or death situation (which it might be) but the breathy panicky voice with a tinge of impatience is gnawing at you. The other hunter is downright rude. He’s angry that it’s taking you so long to give him an answer.

You want to shout back at him “What do you expect? All you’ve told me is that it’s eating the organs of the victims. You don’t even know  _what_  organs! Do you have any idea how many monsters eat that shit? It’s going to take some time to narrow it down. How about you call me back once you know what organ it’s eating?” But you don’t shout at him. 

Even though the stupid bastard probably hasn’t even visited the morgue yet and he’s already thinking he’s got enough to solve the case. You don’t yell at him. Because you don’t know him and before you were a hunter, you were passive and polite. Verbal confrontation was never one of your strong suits. The jerk has no idea who you are, you remind yourself, he doesn’t know that he’s upsetting you. You scold yourself for defending his actions, allowing him to behave the way he is. You want to snap and say “I’m not Siri. I’m not some goddamn search engine.” He probably doesn’t even realize that you’re juggling more than one case between him and the other hunter. You’re trying to at least take your time so that you can keep the cases straight.

Even though multitasking is usually one of your talents, it’s not one today. Your eyes and head are heavy and reading these books is a slower process than usual. You’re having difficulty retaining what you read and that’s only infuriating you more. As frustrated as those hunters are with you, you’re twice as mad at yourself. You were left behind here at the bunker for this very purpose and if you can’t fulfill it then you’re not very useful, are you?

You think to yourself that if you mess up with these hunters and their cases, it’s only going to be a matter of time before you mess up one of Sam and Dean’s cases and then what? What if they get hurt? It’ll be your fault. You can’t accept that. Even just the hypothetical idea of it is filling you with dread and shame and guilt.

At some point, you realize that those personal struggles that you left behind have finally caught up to you. You were slow to grasp it but you know now. Being here alone with the pressure of multiple hunts has finally allowed your depression and anxiety to resurface. The very idea that you might have a panic attack–maybe even in front of Dean–has your heart racing and your hands shaking.

 

* * *

 

It’s 2 pm by the time you think you’ve got answers for the hunters. You distribute the information accordingly. This is what it is and this is how you kill it.

You don’t even realize your mistake until one of them calls you back not even 2 hours later. That’s odd in itself because once a hunt is over, they don’t call you back until they’ve got another case.

“You dumbass! It wasn’t a werewolf! Silver didn’t do anything!” It’s obviously the meaner hunter of the two. You don’t hold your phone too close to your ear because he’s loud. “You could’ve killed me! Sending me in there with the wrong weapon! Dumb bitch. This is why I’m a hunter and you’re not!” He hung up before you could defend yourself.

You’re left frozen in place; his harsh words shaking you to your core. Because even if he was an asshole, that didn’t exactly make him wrong. You had made a mistake. The other hunter wasn’t misinformed thankfully. You’re positive that the information you gave him would work. But just one mistake…that’s enough to fill you with doubt.

You feel a wave of panic wash over you. You drop your phone onto the table and sit down. You hang your head and try to stave off the rapid breathing and your shaking hands. You feel heavy and light headed at the same time and you suddenly realize that you haven’t eaten anything all day and you haven’t showered in 3 days. 

There just hasn’t been enough time. There’s never enough time. Hunters are constantly calling needing information, impressing upon you a sense of urgency, apparently unaware that they’re only one of several asking for your help. There’s no time for you. And when you’re not even good enough at your job to be of use and save lives, you feel inclined to ignore your needs even more.

Your breathing becomes shallow and you feel the urge to heave though your sickened stomach is empty. Your eyes are watering and at some point you concede that they are in fact tears.

Leaving your phone behind for the first time in weeks, you run to the bathroom, just in time for your dry heaving to turn to vomit. Your body is racked with your heaving and sobs and you let it happen. You fill the silence that surrounds you in this empty bunker with your cries. Your nails are digging into your skin as you clutch at your arms, as if your weak grip could stop your shaking.

You’re so mad at yourself. So ashamed. You hadn’t felt this way in months and the moment you were left alone you let yourself get this way again. You thought you’d gotten better! How could you do this to yourself? Were you not strong enough? Would you ever be strong enough? Could you get better again? Could you do your job if you didn’t get better? Would the brothers make you leave?

Your fingers tangle in your hair, pulling at the greasy roots. Gritting your teeth in anger, you tear at your clothing until you’re in just your underwear and sports bra. But even taking off all of your garments seems like a waste of time; time you cannot spare. 

You struggle to get up and into the shower. You let the water become scalding hot and eventually you crumble to the shower floor and just let the water rain down on you.

 

* * *

 

You let time pass as if the concept does not exist.

You want to stop the clock.

Press pause.

If you could only just take a moment to breathe then maybe you could get back to work and make a difference.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears.

You don’t hear the door open. But you do hear his footsteps as Dean rushed\s up to you. He turns off the water, disregarding any attempt to keep his clothes dry.

“Y/N,” he says your name and his voice is filled with concern. “You weren’t answering your phone. What happened? Are you hurt?” Dean crouches in front of you and pulls your hands away from your face. His stunning green eyes look you over and you just stare blankly at him, not really registering that Dean and Sam are back.

Your lagging response eventually catches up and you notice Sam is standing in the doorway. Your phone is in his hand; he’s likely looking over your call history. Dean calls your attention back to him. He cups your face and looks you over like he’s looking for physical wounds. How can you possibly tell him that it’s not something he can visibly see? That your personal demons have resurfaced and made you physically sick?

You don’t tell him. You just rant about there being no time,  making mistakes and having so many hunters depend on you and then failing them. Sam finds the hunter’s number in your phone. He excuses himself and you’re vaguely aware of Sam shouting at someone on the phone.

While Sam defends you, Dean wraps you in a towel and scoops you up into his lap. He wraps his arms around you and just holds you.

“Hey, hey, shh shh, it’s gonna be okay. I’m here, Y/n. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” He presses a kiss to your head. You feel terrible for getting him all wet. He’s fully clothed and sitting on the wet floor of a shower. A string of apologies fall from your lips. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. My clothes will dry. What matters is that you get better. I should’ve known better than to let you take on the burden of the archives. I’m sorry.” Dean’s deep voice is soothing. Your hiccuping sobs have died down and now you’re just trying to focus on your breathing. You let yourself be entranced by Dean’s touch; he’s grounding you to reality and you’re grateful for it. “I’m here for you now. Me and Sammy, we’re both here for you. We’ll get past this. We’ll beat this just like any other monster. So long as you always keep fighting, we will too. You… _we_  have all the time in the world.”

You finally admit that truth. It’s important that you take the time to focus on yourself and what makes you happy. And so long as you have Sam and Dean Winchester by your side, you know it’s possible to stop the clock. 


End file.
